Arts and Humanities Commons^™

Only Touch Is Impossible, So We Touch, John Sibley Williams

Bryant Literary Review

Silence enters us.

These once familiar faces go strange

over time.

The Bush Burned With Fire And The Bush Was Not Consumed, Peter Munro

Bryant Literary Review

Skin draws gaunt to his skull, deflating

jowls he has borne across eight decades.

The Help, J. Tarwood

Bryant Literary Review

In the morning, the radio

praises God while the maid

cracks eggs.

God And God's, Sandy Weisman

Bryant Literary Review

God ran our house, decided what

we could or could not do.

Young Tragic Heroines, Elaine Little

Bryant Literary Review

The letter was addressed to Diane, predictably misspelled. It was from a postal box in a town known only for its prison. When she saw the name, Ben Strickert, she tore it open.

Learning From Her, Emily Madapusi Pera

Bryant Literary Review

A lot you could learn from her,

you thought.

Home Visit, Jesse Mardian

Bryant Literary Review

4782 Menson Avenue was a small place with a dead lawn. Past the brittle grass where toys lay scattered, the house stood with peeling pink paint and a roof missing several clay shingles. Jennifer checked the address in her notebook, entered through a creaking gate, and walked to the door.

Dog Whistle, Tina Cane

Bryant Literary Review

It begins with a tweet the bird kind in which a friend of mine

deems the hummingbird her spirit animal delicate engine

Copy Cat Music, John Krumberger

Bryant Literary Review

I never asked his name

-no suitable pause between the torrent

of New York accented syllables that flowed

Night Shadows, Jimmie Pennington

Bryant Literary Review

Night shadows

lie on empty walls

like the silhouettes

of yesterday's dreams

Judge, John P. Kristofco

Bryant Literary Review

Richard Witched noticed the small envelope in his mailbox right away.

It sat like a white raft on the sea of gray, brown, and beige detritus that

gathered, as it did almost every day, in his slot.

Chicago - 1966, Michael Walls

Bryant Literary Review

I remember you well. Sidewalks were slush,

snow piled along the edges.

Mastery, Ken Victor

Bryant Literary Review

And the experience of the failed

work is a prod to practice: think of

Is It Alice, Amy Or Anne?, George Longenecker

Bryant Literary Review

Huddled with four other nameless people,

who sleep on cardboard and blankets,

in the entry of a garage alcove,

Saudade, Lisa Russo

Bryant Literary Review

Now that you're gone, you've left me longing.

I smile softly because you were here

Constructing Border Quilts, Martha Brenckle

Bryant Literary Review

looking for justice with thread, pins, needle

and scissors, cutting shirts and dungarees abandoned

Fortress*, . Yvonne

Bryant Literary Review

Not a single ceiling or window fan

In our stifling apartment on the top floor.

Object Permanence, Jacob Nelson

Bryant Literary Review

When the sheet is pulled over

your father's face is still there,

his mustache, too, for you to tug.

Outsider's Shovel, Mark Taksa

Bryant Literary Review

An insider promises smoke will never

pollute the flag.

Living Dolls, Andrena Zawinski

Bryant Literary Review

A living doll, everywhere you look.

It can sew, it can cook,

It can talk, talk, talk. Sylvia Plath

As a little girl, I never wanted any creepy

Lachrimae, Allen Strous

Bryant Literary Review

The man whose tears are often,

out of nowhere

the open-up

breakdown,

Tiny Bills, Susan Johnson

Bryant Literary Review

Mist nets catch the fall migration,

catch my hands numb and slow as

The Wandering Buddha, Cate Gable

Bryant Literary Review

for chef Jimella Lucas

Entering the Bardo or another set

of bones, you cannot know

we mourn your knife skills,

The Book Of Bad Faith, Noel Sloboda

Bryant Literary Review

Back when Mom first swore

Dad rated an entire chapter

The Commandment, James Armstrong

Bryant Literary Review

Brontë enthusiasts tend to be a bit fanatical. A university hosts their conference each summer, and grown men and women- not just scholars, but librarians and secretaries and retirees- pay for the privilege to live in cramped dorm rooms for a week, eat lousy food and attend lectures on Villette and Agnes Grey and storm imagery in Wuthering Heights.

Another Gen-X Icon Dead, Ace Boggess

Bryant Literary Review

Why are we the waning crowd,

grayest cloud, shattered vase

that once held crocuses & hope?

The Lariat, Marc Pietrzkowski

Bryant Literary Review

I want to wash the hands that guide me home

and smell the soap and the soil together.

Editors' Note

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

The Good Son, William Torphy

Bryant Literary Review

I'm on Trailways, staring through dirty windows at mounds of snow piled on the side of the road. I couldn't face everyone's questions, their judgments. Even Shirley at the bank gave me a suspicious look when she handed me my cancelled savings book and the $357.45 from my account this morning.

Monkey Time, Eric Greinke

Bryant Literary Review

Communication devices destroy communication.

Text messages erode the language,